I sat quietly in a brightly-colored chair, observing my son, Lucas, as he engaged with his speech therapist, whom we affectionately called The Communication Coach. They were seated at a round table, separated by a card displaying various images of colorful fish, each nestled in a circular space. This was Lucas’s first session to address his speech delay, specifically his tendency to muddle certain sounds.
The therapist retrieved a game board from her collection, resembling a bingo card, and began the session. “Let’s practice the ‘ka’ sound together. Can you say it like this: ‘Ka, ka’?”
“Ka, ka,” Lucas echoed, doing his best.
The game involved him vocalizing the sounds, rewarding him with colorful chips to place on the board, aiming to fill it up completely. It sounded simple, but I quickly realized it was anything but.
Lucas’s struggle wasn’t with his ability to make sounds or his attention span; it was rooted in the game’s structure. When he first earned a chip, he asked where he should place it. The therapist encouraged him to choose freely, but confusion clouded his expression. After several exchanges, he finally selected a spot.
I watched as he meticulously matched each chip to the corresponding color of the fish. If a chip didn’t match any fish, he hesitated and sought guidance, showing a clear preference for order. This moment illuminated something crucial for me: Lucas thrives on structure, even within what should be a fun, carefree game.
Weeks later, while returning from a family trip, we stopped at a gas station where a display of ceramic wind chimes caught Lucas’s interest. The tinkling sound piqued his curiosity, and when I suggested we move on, he protested, insisting on organizing the chimes by color instead of just enjoying them.
This behavior mirrored my own tendencies toward organization and structure. I often find myself agitated when plans falter or when things become chaotic. It made me question whether my habits have influenced Lucas’s behavior. Is his desire for order a result of his environment, or is it part of his innate personality?
For the past three years, our routine has been strict: out the door by 7:30 a.m. on weekdays, followed by structured activities and a predictable evening schedule. With him spending long hours at daycare, he has been exposed to a life where everything follows a rigid timeline. This has unintentionally introduced him to the monotony of adult life.
I ponder whether Lucas would be different had I chosen to stay home full-time. Regardless, I’ve learned that we both need moments of spontaneity to break free from our structured lives. Perhaps we should indulge in ice cream before dinner or take impromptu drives to see holiday lights.
My son hasn’t developed my level of obsession with order yet. I still have time to foster a sense of spontaneity and creative chaos in him. Maybe through this process, I can learn to enjoy it too. One thing is for sure: I won’t leave another vacation day unused. Breaks are essential, and they offer more than just a day off; they enrich our lives.
Thanks to Lucas and The Communication Coach for this enlightening experience.
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